


For We've World and Time Enough

by logorrhea



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Alternative Interpretations, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-30 21:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14505855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logorrhea/pseuds/logorrhea
Summary: Aphrodite, Hephaestus, and the slow dance of centuries.A retelling of their myriad myths with the intention of a happy (or at least happier) ending.





	1. the castration of Uranus

**Author's Note:**

> Secondary characters and ships (ie, don't read this story for them):
> 
> Characters: Aglaia, Ares, Erotes, Gaia, Pontus, Uranus, Cronus, Hera, Zeus, Poseidon, Amphitrite  
> Ships: Ares/Aphrodite, Aphrodite/Aglaia, Gaia/Uranus, Gaia/Pontus, Uranus/Pontus, Aphrodite/Hera, Hera/Zeus, Poseidon/Aphrodite, Poseidon/Amphitrite

1\. the castration of Uranus

Once, a piece of the sky fell into the sea. He could have stopped it, but was taken so unawares, betrayed by his mother and youngest son so.

A great wave swallowed the piece whole and it was the first time the two brothers had met since their creation. For eons Pontus had envied his older brother for the attentions of their mother. He had thought the two of them would have eyes for one another for all eternity. But here at last was an opportunity for him, to worm his way into either of their hearts. Yet he could feel neither joy nor mirth at the prospect.

The piece of the sky had sunk into him and with it, he felt Uranus' sorrow, so deep and keening it was as if he had been killed, not cut.

Their mother did not love him any longer. The proof of that was in the piece. And still the earth which his waves embraced cried out.

 _This is not what I wished for_ , the earth cries.

 

-

 

2\. the birth of Aphrodite

His waters cannot sustain the bit of the sky that fell. In time – like all things of sky and land which enter his domain – the piece of Uranus turns to froth. Pontus watches on as it makes its way up. The bubbles will pop at the water's surface and be reunited with the air and the sky in turn.

The bubbles do reach the water's edge, but they linger there, as if reluctant to reunite.

For a great many days and nights, the white froth rocks to and fro on the waves. Cresting and sailing like the tides themselves. Gaia is beside herself with grief; in the same jealous fury which had led her to conspire against Uranus in the first place, she soaks up every drop of his blood and from this devotion, more brother-sister nephew-nieces are born. It is only when the last of the nymphs are rubbing their faces with soot as a show of solidarity to the careless mother who birthed them that the bit of sky that had fallen into the sea takes on a solid form. Its shape is that of a Titan, near-identical to the twelve best-beloved sons and daughters of the earth and sky.

It is still a child, Pontus thinks, for it is not a tenth of the size of its other siblings. He readies a wave to drown the small thing, darkly certain that Gaia would turn her attentions to it in time, and would have done so, had his brother not spoken.

 _Would you kill your firstborn child?_ , the sky asks him.

Pontus bristles, first at his brother's tone and then at the implications.

Gods cannot lie and gods cannot die.

 _Then it is your child too_ , he says in reply. That he can say it means it is true. But his older brother has never been the patient sort and in the time it took for Pontus to respond, he is already flooding the earth with a century of rains.

Only then, as her foundations are being drowned, does Gaia turn her attentions to him. In his delight at receiving affection from the earth at last, Pontus forgets the child, and when he thinks of the small thing – only after Eurybia's birth – he realizes it has escaped his domain entirely.

There had been love, he knows. There must have been, or else his waters would have drowned it.

 

-

 

3\. her many names

As Cronus imprisons his brothers and swallows his children whole, as he spurns the pleas of his mother and sister-wife, the child that was born from sky and sea is given a name.

Inanna, they call her. The morning star. The primordial goddess. Her domains are love and war and she runs at the forefront of hundreds of generals and kings, making merry as the rivers run red with blood.

Her devotees are fickle things; a trait she soon discovers is not unique to worship. After some time, they call her Ishtar and then Astarte. At some point between empires, they stopped calling for her in the heat of the battle. It was for the best; her worshippers put up the greatest fuss when she picked one side over the other, as if earning favour from the gods was a matter of arithmetic.

Those were curious times. Things were in a continuous state of flux; as it turned out, mortals were not the only ones at war. When the earth was levelled and her almost-siblings returned to their subterranean dungeons, when the crater that was carved from the earth was filled with the water of penitence and named the middle sea, she returned to find they had given her the name of Aphrodite and added beauty to her domain.

It was, in retrospect, a short stretch of time. This name too, she knew, would not last. The designations of mortals were as fleeting as their lifespans. In the great stretch of plains, her older names were still in use.

The key difference then, was that this was the name her fellow gods would know her as.

 

-

 

4\. Hera, the supplicant

They were born apart from mortals. Fully-formed, free of fear, pain, sickness, weakness, and general uncertainty. It was forever warm above the clouds and they alone knew the secrets of fire. Man was a pitiful thing in those times: shivering from the cold, half-mad from hunger, chased by fanged beasts across looming steppes, out of would-be shelters and into branches that could not hold his weight.

Despite this, they were as humble and pious as they had been when Cronus was king over them all. When they were not eking out their own meagre existences, they would build. Wondrous temples, polished night and day, and they would scrape pigment from stones and shells until their hands bled and all feeling left their fingers so that the temple walls could be splattered in some grotesque shade.

This particular temple had been painted with red poppies. An offering of a dozen white cows and five dozen sheep had been made to alert her of its transformation.

It could not have been so long for the head priestess was the still the same. It just went to show the unfortunate dichotomy of efforts expended and results achieved: the petals of the poppies were an unflattering brown; they looked like the smears of dried blood in the weak light of the dawn.

It was not the lantern that told Aphrodite this devotee was one of her own kind. Even without it, she would have known.

The goddess was masking her presence, so as not to blind the head priestess, but her immortality was as clear as the coming day to Aphrodite. She had known of her kind, across the roaring seas and mountains, and she had even chanced upon other gods, in the time she could be found lingering at the fields of slaughter. But those encounters were few and far between; the other gods had been concerned with their own affairs, their own domains, and she contented herself with her own.

The youngest daughter of the toppled king was the first of her kind to ask anything of her. Even before hearing out her request, Aphrodite knew she would fulfill it. Without question, without fail.

Hera spoke of a love so strong she had known of it when her whole world had been the inside lining of her father's stomach. And then she had seen her golden brother, their savior, and only fallen deeper in love. But he would not return her affections, pursuing both her – both _their_ – older sisters and begetting a child from the goddess of harvest. He had gone through six consorts and would not settle on a queen and with each escapade, she feared the next might sate the insatiable.

At the end of it, Aphrodite revealed herself to the other in her splendor. In her manifestation, she forgot the high priestess and blinded the poor woman accidentally. It was a foolish desire of hers, to want to impress, for the other was a goddess through and through and the same flawless beauty which Aphrodite was given domain over is molded about her form, as certain as the ichor that ran through their veins.

She was the most beautiful thing Aphrodite has ever seen. Well, short of her own reflection.

And her reaction back then, when she was but the youngest sister, neither wife nor mother and much less queen, endeared her to Aphrodite further. She prostrated herself, thinking nothing of the blinded priestess who clawed at her bloodied eyes in muted pain three steps behind, and beseeched Aphrodite, as if she were an ordinary devotee.

"My lady," she addressed, "Have you come to answer my pleas?"

"I have," Aphrodite answered, "Though you've no need to doubt so." And then, when Hera lifted her head and furrowed her brow, she continued with: "For he loves you already." It was the truth.

The other goddess blinked, surprise and disbelief creasing her carefully-sculpted features.

"That – " she tried. _That cannot be_ , she made to say, but the words would not leave her. And so she knew the truth. She asked, "But then why will he not have me?"

"Because he cares for you. He is trying to protect you."

"I don't understand," Hera said as her brow furrowed further, "Our father is dead. Who would harm us now?"

"He will hurt you the most."

Hera recoiled at the statement. She opened her mouth, trying to deny it, but that too, she could not say. In the time it took for the priestess to slump against the tiles, blood running from her eyes and mouth, she opened and closed her mouth four more times.

And then a great determination seized her and her eyes hardened. "I don't care," she said -- and this, at last, she was able to say. Her hands clutched at the hem of Aphrodite' robe. They were as pale as the inside of a shell and perfectly formed, as were Aphrodite's. They trembled.

"Please," Hera begged. "There is nothing – there is no one – I want more."

Aphrodite knelt and took her by the chin. Gently, she pressed her lips to Hera's forehead.

"Because you wish it, you will be his wife and queen," she said, and in saying it, the words became true. Hera nearly collapsed with relief, seizing her hand and kissing her wrist.

"Thank you," she sighed, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."


	2. the birth of the Erotes

5\. the birth of the Erotes

The wedding was a splendid affair. Hera had been a dazzling bride. To be amongst so many of her own kind was startling and, curiously enough, stifling. The golden gleam of Olympus (which twinkled in the background, for Zeus had not yet chosen to set his throne there) made the back of her head hum with the beginnings of a headache.

So she left.

Aphrodite wandered for a while, meandering down the coastline, flitting from temple to temple. Women and men prayed to her, as they always did, and she answered those she felt desired it most.

Speak but a word, and it shall be true. Such was the dominion she had over human emotion.

But the world of mortals tired her as well and when she turned her head to see the rising sun, she thought of the leagues of water the light had filtered through, the one memory she had of her life before.

With some surprise, she discovered she was not only capable of swimming, but breathing beneath the waves. The glassy blue world was like a second home, a second skin, and she wound her way through the coral-covered shipwrecks, latching on to a strong current and letting the waters take her away.

In time, the current took her to the same undersea cove the piece of the sky had landed in.

It was dark there and the light that trickled through cast strange shadows on the walls of the cove.

She closed her eyes and thought of the time long ago. She remembered falling, she remembered drifting with the flow of the waves. As she slipped into a near-slumbering state, the sea itself remarked at last upon her presence. Pontus spoke in the rush of water, the swirl of whirlpools and the bubbling of vents. Aphrodite understood him despite this and was not bothered with the sudden rush of pressure, great enough to flatten a lesser god.

When she woke, she found herself in the company of the Erotes: perpetually-youthful boyish personifications of love. She named them Anteros, Himeros, Hedylogos, Hymenaeus, and Pothos: returned affections, sudden desires, sweet nothings, matrimonial bliss, and endearments much-missed. They were children, with round cheeks and bright eyes, sparkling like pearls in the underwater cove. A burst of love welled up in her for them and she hugged and kissed each one in turn.

With her children nestled in her arms, she turned to the vast ocean and tried to give words of thanks. She could not say them however, and realized then that they had not been gifts from the ocean.

Who then, she wondered, had blessed her with such a thing? For she had lived time immemorial alone, flitting from one lover to another whose lifespan was but a breath in the cosmic span of things. And now, for the first time, she learned what it was to have company. To care and be cared in turn.

"Hera," her mind supplied. "She has been made the goddess of matrimony and motherhood." With the mystery solved, she smiled and laid down to rest.

 

-

 

6\. the birth of Artemis, Apollo, and Hebe

Soon after their nuptials, Hera was swollen with child and Zeus was beside himself with anticipation. Her brother was cruel at times, she thought, for though she loved him and he her, she remembered how he had loved Metis too -- and how their father had loved them, in his own wretched way -- and still swallowed his first wife whole.

They were born of the same mother and father and so she knew herself capable of the same cruelty. Despite this, when she felt the child's heartbeat in her womb, she thought to herself, as mortal mothers thought: I want this child to live in a better world.

And so it was, without any prompting from the King of Gods, that Hera retracted the wicked curse she had placed upon her cousin, sending their mutual niece to lead her to a safe and sheltered place. Leto had been prevented from giving birth for some time; the children which came from her union was nearing adolescence: a pair of gorgeous golden gods with her brother's curls and her cousin's eyes.

Hera hurt to look at them.

When Hebe was born, it was apparent Zeus was disappointed. Like their father, he had hoped for a son. It did not matter that he wished to rule forever, to rule unchallenged, still, he desired a challenger, a successor. Hebe was sweet and clever and they both loved her at first sight, but Hera knew, as sharply as Zeus knew, that this daughter of theirs would never thirst for a throne.

Hera consoled herself thus: there would be more children. Some day, Zeus would have his son.

 

-

 

7\. the wedding of Typhon and Echidna

Unlike the union of Zeus and Hera, both sets of parents were present for this ceremony. Like the one a day's walk from the base of Olympus, Aphrodite kept to the background so as to keep the spotlight on the bride.

It did not matter; she and her children stuck out like grains of wheat on the edge of a threshing floor for how small they were compared to the other guests. It was hard to believe that these monstrous beings, with claws and fangs sharp enough to slice them end-to-end, were her brothers and sisters, her nephews and nieces. Most of them looked nothing like her; the ones with four limbs and a recognizable face were so tall, their heads vanished in the smoke and shadow of the underground lair.

And so it was that Gaia herself blessed their union, vowing that the children birthed from the union would one day be strong enough to topple her wretched disloyal unfaithful great-grandson.

Neither groom nor bride looked enthusiastic at the prospect, but what could they do? A prophecy was a prophecy; their kind could not lie.

Aphrodite was pushed into the limelight with a sudden rush of water. She would remember that moment for a long time: helpless before the one who had birthed them all, sacrificed by her father to save niece. Gaia seized her, swallowing her up in the blink of an eye and the Erotes were helpless to stop her.

The cloying darkness of the earth was nothing like the undersea cove. There was no room to move, no way to breathe, no shimmer of shattered sunlight, no sense of the passage of time.

For what seemed like eternity, Gaia plied her, trying to turn her to the side of the Titans. The earth was planning another revolt, another upheaval of order so that her favoured children might rule, and Aphrodite wanted no part in it. The squabbles of their kind had never interested her; they had as much chance of perishing as speaking a falsehood; and so there would never be any conclusion to the conflict.

When she was released, it was as if no time had passed at all. Such was the power the earth exerted over them.

Aphrodite brushed the dirt from her skin and dutifully passed her own blessings to the married couple. She wished them happiness and health like the rest of them, but fidelity as well. Echidna's eyes crinkled at the edges at that blessing and she dipped her great head a little lower, so that she could dart her tongue against Aphrodite's hand.

With the ceremony complete and the Erotes enjoying themselves at the feast, Aphrodite slipped away from the rest of them and went to the water's edge. Her never-quite father lingered there, and she wondered what he felt towards Typhon, the half-brother, half-cousin come groom.

 _I am sorry,_ the sea told her, in a voice that seemed trapped in a shell.

"What do you have to apologize for?" she asked him.

_You have suffered our mother's affections._

Though it was moments ago, it felt sufficiently far removed that Aphrodite did not shudder at the reminder.

"That is love too," she answered.

Pontus said nothing for a long while. There was the splash of the tide against the sand and Aphrodite sank to her knees to hear the other better. There were no words however, just the slosh of water between her ankles. She smiled and sat down, contenting herself with the waves until Hymenaeus floated over to her side.

"Mother," he said, curling up against her.

She wrapped an arm about him, stroking at his soft curls. "What is it?" she asked.

"Himeros and Hedylogos said to go get you. There's a man who wants to see you."

Aphrodite laughed at that. She drew Hymenaeus close and stood up with him pressed to her breast. "Isn't there always?" she asked, sauntering back from where they came.

 

-

 

8\. the birth of Rhodos

The late arrival to the wedding had been a brother of Zeus who had spent so much time in his own realm, he had confused the two invitations. And so it was that Aphrodite met Poseidon, the god of the sea.

After having only mortals as lovers for the past handful of centuries, Aphrodite had nearly forgotten what it was like, to revel in the passions of a god. Though Poseidon was as cold as the realm he ruled, his hands and mouth still left a trail of embers as they made their way across her form.

She delighted him and he, her.

For a long time, she and her children kept court with the king of the seas. Her rooms were lavishly decorated: gold and silver engravings on the walls, strings of pearls as room dividers, and luminescent sapphires the size of the boys' fists dangled from the ceilings.

There was love. There was love in all things.

Though she had born many children to many lovers, none of them had her ichor. Their feats were impressive for the likes of mortals, but they could not accompany her, not like the Erotes. With this child however, hope blossomed in her chest. As they were both immortals, it was certain the child would be immortal too.

How wonderful the days had been, as she floated from one wing of Poseidon's palace to the next. Himeros, Hedylogos, and Hymenaeus were constantly pestering her for names, while Anteros and Pothos had resigned themselves to a sixth addition in their ranks. Poseidon too, whiled away in gayful anticipation.

And then Rhodos had been born, gorgeous and golden and too too large, and it had become apparent that she would be neither Titan nor God.

Her firstborn daughter became an island. A lush and peaceful paradise in the eye of the storm that was the Mediterranean then. Aphrodite loved her dearly and there would always be love, but she could no more take Rhodos with her than stay indefinitely in her domain.

As was her way, she left Poseidon in the arms of another, her almost-sister Amphitrite who had, as it turned out, longed for the other as much as Hera had longed for Zeus. And so Aphrodite left the domain of the sea along with her daughter.


	3. sporting with the Nereids

9\. sporting with the Nereids

She and her sons then spent some time in the company of Amphitrite's sisters, the Nereids of the Mediterranean. The Nereids were fair and lovely maidens of the sea, who sunbathed on great rocks and combed their long tresses with long spiked seashells.

Though they loved singing songs and telling stories and chasing one another across the waves and through the many shipwrecks dotted on the coastline, their favorite pasttime was beguiling men. Unlike the Sirens, they did not do so with the intention of eating their flesh; rather, it was incredibly amusing to have a lovestruck sailor stumble overboard, arms outstretched in search of the nymph who had turned herself to froth.

Aphrodite thought it a bore at first but then, after watching the Nereids a couple times, realized how _fun_ it could be, seeing how close a first mate or captain would dare to pull their ship, all for the chance for a second glimpse!

The Erotes -- Himeros especially -- were essential in this. They would flutter onboard the ship, snickering and giggling, and then Himeros would fly up to the victim and kiss his cheek and like that, he would be besotted with the first nymph he saw.

This mischievous side of the Erotes endeared them to her further. It was a trait that was curiously lacking in her other children, Rhodos included. Aphrodite had thought, with the mortal ones at least, that they were simply too concerned with death and winning everlasting glory to dawdle with pranks and tricks but her daughter had all the time in the world and seemed to want nothing more than peace on her island.

 

-

 

10\. the arrival of three Graces

One day however, as she was sunbathing with Galatea and Opis, there was a sudden rainstorm followed by the most beautiful rainbow. As the multicoloured light hit the water's surface, three goddesses appeared. Galatea and Opis, still granddaughters of Pontus through and through and wanting nothing to do with the conflict between generations, immediately dove back into the waters. As Hymenaeus and Pothos were as of yet unable to swim and the other boys loathe to do so, Aphrodite kept her peace.

Sure enough, the goddesses approached her.

They introduced themselves as the Graces: Thalia, Euphrosyne, and Aglaia -- daughters of Zeus and Eurynome, born before the fall of Cronos. They had been sent, not by their father, but by the queen of gods, to attend to Aphrodite and beseech her to return to her temples, where her worshippers were eagerly awaiting her attentions.

All three of them were beautiful, though they were not creatures of the ocean. Aphrodite considered herself as much at home in the seas as on land, but she was not blind to how the Erotes had all but cheered at the request to return to the temples.

So she gave her consent and clapped her hands, telling her father the sea that she would be returning to coastlines and islands. Instead of responding, Pontus sent a great clam shell large enough to house the nine of them. Aglaia, the youngest of them, gasped in wonder at the mother-of-pearl on the inside of the shell.

It was in this great shell that they washed up on Paphos, a sight to behold for the hundred (or so) mortals that called the island home.

 

-

 

11\. the departure at Paphos

"Pothos!" Aphrodite exclaimed, "Did you throw the incense into the sea again?"

"No."

"Alright. Then who was it?"

"I don't -- " he started but could not finish. Instead he crossed his arms and shot her a sulky look.

Aphrodite frowned and pulled his ear. "Pothos," she said again, this time with a warning tone.

He bit his bottom lip, eyes flashing with childish rebellion.

"Alright, it was Hedylogos," he admitted.

"Thank you," Aphrodite sighed. It saved her the effort of voicing out all the possibilities. "You may go, but send Hedylogos to me."

"Yes mother," he answered and fluttered away, still sulking.

Soon after, Hedylogos came to her. Unlike his brother, he looked properly contrite.

"Come here," Aphrodite sighed, gesturing to her lap. Her son did as told and she combed her fingers through his still-short and still-curly locks. "Your tricks are normally reserved for the supplicants," she murmured, "Why play them on the servants?"

Hedylogos burst into tears then.

"I didn't want to," he confessed, "But Anteros and Himeros made me!"

"They made you? Why?"

"Because we don't like this place," Anteros answered, entering the inner chambers with the other Erotes at his heel.

"You don't like it?" Aphrodite repeated. She turned to Hedylogos, who was still weeping. "Is this true?" He nodded, but said nothing more. "But why?"

"It's so boring!" Himeros supplied. "We've played every prank we could hundreds of times and seen every corner of the island and now there's nothing more to do."

Pothos climbed onto the bed and into her lap.

"Mother," he entreated, "Can we go? Please?"

Aphrodite sighed, though her resolve was already broken. She could deny her dear children nothing. Especially not when she felt the same strain of restlessness.

"Where would you like to go?" she asked instead.

"Somewhere else!"

"Anywhere else!"

"Somewhere fun!"

"With lots of people!"

"Somewhere with lots of pranks!"

She sighed and opened her arms, letting the other three crowd about her. "Oh alright," she relented, "But I must speak with Aglaia and her sisters first. They'll come with us, of course."

"I like them," Himeros said.

" _I_ don't," Pothus interjected.

"They've pledged their services to me, as you have," Aphrodite murmured. "Wherever we go, they shall follow."

"But we'll leave?" Anteros pressed, "For sure?"

"Yes," she smiled, dipping her head to kiss his brow, "Yes, we'll leave for sure."

The Erotes cheered as one, as enthusiastic as they had been when the Graces had first appeared to spirit her from the ocean's domain. They were her children through and through, Aphrodite thought, just as Rhodos, though her daughter, must have gotten more from Poseidon than herself. Like the Erotes, she chafed at staying in any one place, even a temple as marvelous as the one here.

After kissing each of them, she bid them leave and sent for the Graces.

Perhaps this was the moment they were waiting for. Perhaps they were simply homesick. Either way, Thalia breached the idea of returning to Olympus -- or, in Aphrodite's case, being properly introduced before the assembly of the gods -- and the more she thought of it, the less argument she had against it.

"Alright," she sighed, and the three sisters lit up at her acquiescence. "We shall make way for Olympus."

And so it was.

 

-

 

12\. an audience with Zeus, the king of gods

It was as the Graces had said: the gods of Olympus welcomed Aphrodite and her entourage with open arms. In the years since she had attended the wedding of Hera and Zeus, the gods had transformed the mountain top. Though it was still dense with forests and filled with unforgiving cliffs, there seemed to be a perpetual springtime in the air, with youthful energy all abound.

Hera was the first to greet them; she was more radiant than Aphrodite remembered. She kissed Aphrodite's cheeks and turned to her side, introducing her daughter, Hebe.

Hebe was on the cusp of womanhood, already up to her mother's chin. Still she clung to Hera like a shadow and only hazarded a smile when Himeros and Hedylogos gifted her with a crown of flowers. Looking at their children filled Aphrodite with a faint longing. Although she loved the Erotes and was grateful to the company their perpetual youth provided them, at the same time she wished for the tenderness between mother and daughter which Hera and Hebe so clearly defined.

As their children played together, Hera took her for a stroll of the gardens. They spoke of light subjects -- temples, offerings, and the incomprehensible whimsies of their mortal worshippers -- before the lord of Olympus and the king of the gods revealed himself.

Though she was his older sister and his wife and queen, Hera still sank to her knees before him. Aphrodite was quick to follow suit.

In those days, Zeus had yet to settle on a form. He was a shapeshifter, a uniquely talented one at that, but before his fellow gods, it did not matter what form he took, for the brilliantly golden light that came from his existence could not be dimmed. At the present, he was a young man in the prime of his life.

"So this is the beauty that charmed my brother so," were his first words.

Aphrodite looked up into sky-blue eyes and felt the same instant attraction she had felt for Poseidon. At arm's length, the family resemblance was clear.

Zeus felt it too, that much was apparent. He took her hand and kissed her wrist before wishing both of them a good day and taking his leave. By the time Aphrodite shook herself from her temporary daze, Hera was already standing. Her lips were pursed and her expression was understandably stormy.

Being the personification of love itself, Aphrodite knew it did not matter what she did -- Zeus had six wives before and he would not be satisfied with the seventh. Even if he would only have one queen, there would be lovers -- dozens of them. Hera knew this too. Aphrodite wondered if she had tried counting the number of them, wondered if she had tried and given up.

It was not pity that made her renounce her momentary claim on the king of god's heart. It was pride. Hera was the first god who had asked something of her and this, the first divine union she had truly blessed. Whether it would last was outside of her control, but she did not need to add Zeus to her coterie or lovers; nor he her.

With this in mind, she pushed herself up and took Hera's hand.

"My queen," she murmured, kissing her as Zeus had kissed her moments before, "You need not look at me with those eyes. I swear to you now: he shall never have me."

Hera smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. She turned her hand to grasp at Aphrodite's and gave a broken laugh.

There was still love then. There must have been, for without it, she would not have hurt so, to see her not-quite niece on the cusp of tears.

"He is the king of gods," Hera said, "It is not -- " _in your right to deny him anything,_ she found herself unable to say. She blinked, caught unawares, and pulled her hand from Aphrodite's grasp to touch at her mouth.

Aphrodite smiled.

"You forget, my dear queen," she chided, "I am a guest, not a subject. Zeus holds no sway over me."


	4. exile from Olympus

13\. exile from Olympus

As they feared, Zeus asked for a private audience after their chance meeting in the gardens. Though Aphrodite was not his subject, as his guest, she was honor-bound to obey. So she went.

Zeus had her meet him in the observation tower. Perched at the summit of Olympus, it afforded views of the Aegean and the Adriatic Seas. The tower itself was so high up, it seemed to brush the sky itself.

There was wine and ambrosia, as well as the sweetmeats Hestia had perfected.

Aphrodite felt the same spark of attraction she had felt in the garden. Zeus was smiling at her from across the table and looking at him now, she could admit he was a handsome man. It would have been easy, so easy, to succumb then and there. She wanted it, he wanted it, and even Hera had resigned herself to the foibles of her husband. She was carrying too, Zeus mentioned as an aside, though it had yet to show, and Aphrodite could take comfort in the birth of a second child from their union.

When Zeus reached across to refill her glass, she murmured thanks and he reached out further, taking a lock of honeyed hair and tucking it behind her ear. Aphrodite shivered, suddenly reminded of the tenderness she and Poseidon had shared.

And then his hand was on top of hers and his mouth pressed against hers and of course the king of gods in his golden glory would be a fantastic kisser too. Aphrodite kissed back, despite herself, and even let out a wanton moan. Zeus' hands were on her shoulders, running down her sides, cupping her breasts, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him close.

They got -- well, she was sprawled across the table, as naked as she'd been born, and he was poised between her legs, a breath away from taking her, when she remembered herself.

With a cry, she shoved him away, snapping her legs closed and pushing herself from the table.

Zeus' brow furrowed. He looked so much like Hera then, so seized with disbelief that anyone might refuse him.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

She took a deep breath before fixing him with her most regal gaze. Then she spoke. "I am Aphrodite. Firstborn daughter of the sea himself. I am love incarnate and I am born to neither god nor titan. Therefore, I exist outside of your domain, O king of gods, and you will never have me."

Zeus narrowed his eyes.

"I am the king of gods," he hissed, "I will have whoever I want."

"You will never have me," Aphrodite repeated.

It was madness, that those two truths might coexist. But that both of them were able to say so spoke volumes. Zeus opened his mouth, trying to say otherwise, but no words came out. He glared at her and tried again, but there was still nothing. He did not love her, Aphrodite realized -- not as Poseidon had loved her, not as he loved Hera -- and she took comfort in that realization. He did not love her, and so he did not really want her, and for that reason, both of them could be right.

Zeus was still caught in the moment however, and still hard at that. His lips curled back so that his surprised expression contorted into a snarl and he struck out, backhanding her.

Aphrodite staggered back, more shocked than truly hurt.

"Conceited wretch," Zeus spat. His eyes blazed. Aphrodite wondered if he had said similar things to Hestia when she rejected him.

"I try my best," she preened in reply, though she could not mask the tremor in her voice. Pride alone kept her knees from buckling under the intensity of his glare.

"Leave Olympus," he commanded of her, "You, who have been tainted by the titans. There is no place for you here."

She had always known this. Her place was neither here nor there and there was a reason she had spent so long amongst mortals, mortal though they were. She bent down to pick up her fallen robe and slipped it on in one smooth motion.

"Very well," she said, and this time her voice did not tremble. "I will take my leave of you."

As she closed the door behind her, there was the distinct sound of glass shattering against marble.

 

-

 

14\. the return to Paphos

After the altercation with Zeus, there was no time to catch her breath, much less bid Hera farewell. She thought the Erotes would have been reluctant to leave, for how lively Olympus was, but they bundled themselves in her arms with nary a complaint and like that, the six of them descended from the realm of the gods.

She fled to Paphos, for lack of any better places to go. As soon as she set foot on the island, the Erotes crowded about her. As one, the younger four turned to Anteros, who fluttered up and took her face in his small hands.

"Mother," he said, running his fingers against the bruise, "Who did this to you?"

In his loose grasp, she turned, kissing at his fingers.

"It's nothing," she reassured him, and then ducked down to kiss the others, "Really, it's nothing. I'm sorry we had to leave in such a state. Are you sorry to be leaving Olympus?"

The children exchanged glances.

Himeros shook his head emphatically.

"What's most important is that we're together," Pothos said. His brothers nodded as one at that and Aphrodite felt her heart overflow.

"Yes," she agreed, holding the five of them tight, "We have each other and that will always be enough."

 

-

 

15\. Aglaia the faithful

Having said that, the six of them tired of Paphos even quicker the second time around. The fact of the matter was: it was a small island with only one great temple and even though the head priest had been convinced to have bimonthly festivities, there was only so much festivity the island could provide.

The Erotes were on the cusp of burning down the temple for fun and Aphrodite tempted to allow them when Aglaia returned to them.

"Aglaia!" Himeros exclaimed as the youngest of the Graces stepped off of the rainbow.

"Aglaia's back!" Hedylogos cheered.

"Why's she come back?"

"How should I know?"

"Mother!"

"Yes, get mother!"

"Mother!" the five of them chorused as Aphrodite swept onto the scene. She couldn't believe her eyes: there was Aglaia, sparkling from the morning dew. After a beat, Aglaia immediately prostrated herself before Aphrodite.

"Milady," she murmured, "Please forgive me my extended absence."

"You've done nothing that warrants forgiveness. Come, stand up. Let's speak inside." She shot a glance at Anteros, meaning: _let us speak in peace_ and he grinned and nodded, the image of obedience.

Aglaia followed her inside the temple, into the chambers which the goddess occupied.

As soon as it was the two of them, she threw her arms about Aphrodite.

"I've missed you so," the goddess cried out. Hearing the other say so brought forth her own feelings of longing that she had spent the past year pushing down. Aphrodite was quick to return the embrace, stroking at her hair and resting her chin on the other's head.

"I've missed you too," she answered. "You and your sisters. How are Euphrosyne and Thalia, for that matter?"

"They miss you too," Aglaia replied, pulling back to rub at her eyes. "They wanted to come -- we all wanted to come see you as soon as possible -- but there was so much to do on Olympus and now the queen has born a prince and...!"

Aphrodite smiled despite herself. Hera was lucky, to be blessed with both son and daughter.

"What wonderful news. Give her my blessings."

"That's the thing," Aglaia said, fidgeting with her lower lip. "I know you and father had an argument, but I'm sure he's long since forgiven you." She looked up at Aphrodite, pleading, "Won't you please come back to Olympus? We all miss you so."

Though the bruise on her cheek had entirely faded, her pride remained sore. A part of her continued to rage -- how dare that young upstart treat her so! It did not matter that he was king, that he had overthrown his own father to get his throne, she was eons older than him!

"I miss it too, sometimes," Aphrodite admitted, for there were parts of Olympus she missed.

"So you'll come back?" Aglaia tried.

"No," she shook her head. "I do not belong there."

"Where will you go then?" the other countered, "For you certainly don't belong here."

Being asked point-blank forced her into action. She thought back to the centuries she had spent among mortals and asked herself why she couldn't do the same along the coast. The more she thought of it, the more attractive it seemed. The answer appeared to her then and she smiled.

"Claros," she said. "I shall go to Claros. It is a port city without a god and in subsequent need of a temple."

Aglaia huffed. "But that's still across the sea!"

"Yes. But it's closer than Paphos so you might visit more often."

"Visit?" Aglaia repeated. She laughed and her voice was as clear as a bell. "I shan't visit. I'm here to serve you, milady. If you wish to go to Claros, then to Claros I shall follow."

Aphrodite paused, taking in the other's declaration. Then she sighed and wrapped her in another embrace.

"Truly, I've missed you," she said.

"No milady," Aglaia answered, stroking her hair this time, "Not as much as I've missed you."

 

-

 

16\. the formation of the hetairai

As Aphrodite said, Claros in those days straddled the line between village and city. On days when the ships were docked, the streets were bustling with activities whereas in the winter months, all the windows and doors would be boarded in anticipation of the snow.

Despite having not lived properly among mortals for some time, life was still the same and she found herself slipping seamlessly into her old routine. The Erotes remained invisible while Aglaia posed as her attendant and like that, Aphrodite inured herself to the social strate of Claros.

Within a year, she was the mistress of a house of pleasure. The men that paid her girls visits were not content with sweet touches alone and so she taught them to sing and dance and speak knowledgeably on subjects sailors might take interest in. Without meaning to -- for all prostitutes, in their profession, were her subjects -- she created a distinction between the two, one which she was loathe to use.

In time, her clientele expanded to include poets, orators, and even a prince or two.

A decade passed and Claros blossomed into a proper city. Aphrodite revealed herself to the head girl, taking care to display a fraction of her allure so as not to blind her, and with a kiss, left the ownership of the establishment in her hands. Then she gathered the Erotes and twined her arm with Aglaia and the seven of them made their way to the next city. And the one after that and the one after that. So they passed more than a century along the eastern coastline, setting up and then giving away more... informal places of worship.


	5. the judgement of Zeus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it is nearly ten thousand words in and there's still no mention of Hephaestus and I'm so sorry about that! It's hard for me too, I want to dive right in, but Aphrodite was born soooo long before him and I rushed through the first thousand (possibly three thousand?) years of her existence lol. But when Hephaestus is born (which should be soon... I hope), he'll get a fair amount of spotlight. But they're not going to be a couple immediately; slow burn is meant to be slow.

17\. the judgement of Zeus

None of them knew it then, but the end of the Silver Age was upon them.

Across the Aegean in the palace of the king of gods, Zeus had decreed that the current iteration of mortals, smelt from silver and meant to labour as the menials in Cronus' time had done, were guilty of the greatest offense of them all: impiety.

They were far too concerned with one another, with their pointless lives and affairs, and they lived so long, some of the older ones thought themselves gods. This was a flaw in their very creation and one which Zeus was intent on rectifying.

Their group of exiles knew nothing of this. They had not stepped foot on Olympus in centuries.

At that point, Aphrodite had spent a dozen lifetimes in one mortal form or another, mingling with them as a woman of peerless charm and beauty. Her inns and taverns outnumbered her temples and she cared not a whit for this discrepancy. Wherever there was love (or barring that, lust), she would find a willing (although at times unaware) devotee. And in the Silver Age, with the shifting of peoples from inlands to the coast, there was no shortage of reasons to love.

 

-

 

18\. the destruction of Priene

It was from Himeros that she heard of the sacking of Priene. It was the fifth year after they had taken up residence in Lebedus and she and Aglaia were preparing themselves for the start of the day. They were not entirely dressed when Himeros flew into the foyer with his cheeks flushed and his eyes aglow.

"Mother! Lady Aglaia! I just saw the most amazing thing!"

"What is it?" Aphrodite asked, though she continued to comb her hair.

"It was Priene! It's all gone!"

"Gone?" Aglaia repeated.

"Yup! All of it! You should have seen it!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up to demonstrate the extent of the town's destruction, "There was nothing left, Lady Aglaia. Nothing!"

"Is that so," Aphrodite mused, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I'm sorry to see it go. But I don't see why you're making such a fuss, it's not the first time a settlement has fallen." Indeed, in the ages before, she had often had a hand in the destruction, riding alongside kings and generals and letting them sweep across the plains under the wings of her favor.

Aglaia, who was in the middle of applying her rouge, frowned. "What of the establishment we left behind?" she asked.

"All gone!" Himeros answered, "All of it!"

"And the people?" Aglaia pressed. "Where did they go?"

"The ones we knew have long since died," Aphrodite interjected for it had been decades since they last lived there, "There's no sense dwelling on mortal lives, dear."

"But that's it," Himeros insisted, grinning from ear-to-ear, "They're _not_ dead."

"You mean they -- " Aphrodite tried, but could not finish. It was her turn to frown and she tried to voice another possibility but this too proved impossible. "What do you mean?" she asked in the end.

"They've been taken into the earth," her son explained, "We tried to follow them down, but they wouldn't let us through."

"Into the earth?" Aphrodite repeated. She turned to Aglaia, who had suddenly paled. "What's the matter dear?" And then, when Aglaia shook her head and said nothing, she turned back to Himeros, "And what do you mean 'us'? Do you mean your brothers are _all_ back in Priene?"

"Just Hedylogos and Hymenaeus."

"What of Anteros and Pothos?"

"They wanted to see the other towns."

Aphrodite sighed. If the Erotes were already flying so far, it was a matter of time before they were forced to move to more interesting locales. She quite liked Lebedus, quite liked watching the sunsets through the underwater coves that was, but it was an admittedly small settlement.

"Very well," she said, setting her comb aside and turning to kiss Himeros' cheek, "Play along now but send your brothers to me when they return."

"Yes mother," Himeros chirped, fluttering off with his usual giggle.

Aphrodite turned back to Aglaia, who had made no progress on her rouge.

"Aglaia, dear," she said again, going over to the incarnation of Grace and dipping her finger in the small pot of dark red, "I know you liked Priene terribly but you must understand it is the way of things. Mortals do not make things to last; they cannot make mountains or rivers, much less oceans. They content themselves with their miniscule settlements, knowing full well their walls will fall in a century or two."

As Aglaia did not speak, Aphrodite lapsed into a similar silence, concentrating on applying the rouge. It was only when Aphrodite brushed her fingertips against her fellow goddess' cheek that she opened her mouth at last.

In a faint voice, she said: "Milady, I know where those people have gone."

"Where?"

"They have been sent to Hades."

At the mention of the eldest brother of the king of gods, Aphrodite's gaze hardened. She had never met him and felt no ill-will towards him, but she was loathe to remember Zeus. It was still a sore spot, how she had been cast out from Olympus like a street urchin. Well, she thought with grim satisfaction, nearly every human was a member of her cult and the altars of the lesser gods were more often than not unattended.

"What can he do, with the population of Priene?" she asked.

"I don't know. But it can't be anything good." Aglaia shivered at the thought of her most distant uncle. "But I mourn for them," she admitted, "His realm is a wretched place. There is no sunlight, no life, only darkness and despair. They do not deserve to remain there."

"Death is not my domain," Aphrodite said, "I cannot encroach upon it."

"I know," Aglaia bowed her head, "I apologize for my melancholy, milady. Let me help you get ready." Aphrodite smiled and like that, the two of them reversed their positions and they went about their usual routine.

 

-

 

19\. the destruction of Lebedus

They were in the process of looking for another town to patronize when the same destruction that had eaten up Priene came to Lebedus.

As a result of her exile from Olympus, Aphrodite had never laid eyes on Ares. Aglaia's memories of her half-brother featured him as a bawling infant. Subsequently, neither of them recognized him when they saw him in his glory. They did not know his name, did not know why he was rampaging across the coastal towns, but his domain was as clear as day.

This was the god of war, the bringer of death and destruction. Mortals fled in his wake, seeking shelter in the great temple of Zeus but there was no solace there. The young god pursued them past the pillars, laughing all the while, and the white marble of the temple bled black blood in the night.

Soon after, the house of pleasure they had resided in for the past five years was set aflame. Men on the invading side smashed windows and broke doors while the women within screamed for mercy. Aphrodite's eyes flashed; it was one thing to trespass on the temple of the king of gods, another transgression entirely to invade her domain.

With a flick of her wrist, she spirited the pornai and hetaira to Rhodos where she knew they would be safe. Then she gathered up the Erotes -- and Aglaia too -- and bid them to make their way to safety as well.

"But what of you, milady?" Aglaia demanded.

"Yes mother," Anteros pressed, "Where will you go?"

"I shall go nowhere," Aphrodite answered, flashing a brilliant smile. "It has been some time, long before you met me, but war remains a domain of mine."

That she could say it at all meant it was true. And still, her children shared uneasy glances. But in the end, they could not protest. They were beings of affection, all of them, and Aglaia no better. The softer sweeter emotions were unimportant in the heat of a battle; all that mattered was that you lived at the cost of your enemy's life.

They could not stay.

And so, though none of them truly wished it, they kissed and hugged her before taking to the skies.

 

-

 

20\. the return of the goddess of war

As the foundations beneath them creaked and moaned in protest of the flames, Aphrodite watched them go. She continued watching until the six of them were as small as stars, until they were obscured by the rising smoke. Then she apparated herself from the inn to the battalion at the edge of the settlement. It was littered with corpses. She bent down and took a spear from one of the fallen defenders before returning to the inn.

With the spear of the fallen man, she slaughtered each of the trepassers. Were the walls not burning up, they would have been painted with their blood. As it was, the fire only intensified the scent of death, seeping into her core. She had almost forgotten -- almost forgotten how wonderful cries for mercy could be. Vengeance made violence all the sweeter.

Only when she had killed everyone else inside the inn -- the inn that was still burning, burning brighter than ever before -- did she notice the inside of her thighs were slick with desire. And so it was and so it remained: love and war were two sides of the same coin.

Aphrodite was contemplating a detour to Helicarnassus to properly relieve herself when Ares made his entrance.

In his scarlet and gold battleplate he was the picture of radiance. His eyes blazed and his scowl was intensified with the long shadows of the fire and though he looked to be Aphrodite's age -- perhaps even, physically, a couple years old -- there was a rage, a force of untamed emotion, which Aphrodite recognized as youthful.

But then, compared to her, nearly all the gods were youthful to some extent.

"Who is it," he snarled, kicking aside a corpse, "Who dares to slaughter my men so?"

Aphrodite smiled, tossing her spear to the side. For what was war without love, after all?

"It is I, dear child," she answered, "I have stabbed each of your men through the heart. And perhaps a couple through the groin too," she shrugged, laughing, "Not that it matters now."

At once, Ares was before her. His grip was tight against her neck and he lifted her with one hand.

"Who are you?" he demanded, "Who has sent you here?"

Aphrodite only smiled. She reached for him and with a touch, sent him staggering to his knees. She allowed herself to fall with him, so that they were pressed up against one another as the fires continued to climb through the building.

"What -- " Ares started, surprised by the sudden wave of desire that had sprung forth. His brows furrowed and he looked comical, almost virginal. But he was a man already, of that there was no doubt, and Aphrodite was dripping wet, having taken more lives in the past hour than she had in the previous century.

She looped her arms about his neck and kissed him firmly. As he was panting against her mouth, as his erection jutted against her, she twisted her head to whisper against his ear --

"You'll do."

Lebedus burnt around them. Though she had failed to save her inn and done nothing to protect the settlement, at the end of it, when he had spent himself half a dozen times buried deep within her and she herself had been pushed to climax the same number of times, it was still her uncontested victory. In the smoldering ruins of the once-grand building, he collapsed against her with a grunt. His right arm was wrapped about her waist; his left hand tangled in her locks.

Aphrodite smiled, stroking his hair, before she too, succumbed to Hypnos.


End file.
